A Question of Honor
by emotional-static
Summary: After the sinking, Cal's actions haunt him and he vows to become a changed man. When Rose reaches out to him unwillingly in a moment of despair, will they be able to accept both of their new outlooks on life? [Ch. 6, July 31]
1. Affirmation

A/N: This is another story I've had floating around inside my head for awhile now, and I've always thought there was more to the man than the mask in terms of Cal's character. :o) Sorry to disappoint, but this is nota "Jack Lives" story. Reviews are wonderful!_

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_Prologue_

**April 15, 1912**

_12:30 PM_

The wind whipped rapidly across the barren deck of the Carpathia, causing scarves, dresses, and various outerwear garments of passengers, crew and survivors to tumble amok. It had been mere hours since the Titanic had foundered, and yet, it was still hard to fathom that it really had happened.

Caledon Hockley stumbled slightly over a loose board as he made his way to the steerage area of the ship. Hundreds of widows, children, and a handful of men were scattered about, sipping hot tea and swaddled in large blankets. Crew members alternated between groups, assisting them in their every need.

Regaining his balance, he continued toward the stern, surprised when a steward cuffed him gently on the arm of his tattered tuxedo.

"You won't find any of your people back here, sir. It's all steerage," he gently informed him with a curt nod.

Cal simply shrugged of the man's hand in ignorance and continued onward, determined to check the faces of the women in a single, crushing hope that Rose was still alive—for his sanity and for Ruth's. And even if she was, would he be able to approach her after his cowardly and appalling actions of the night before? He doubted highly that Rose would be warm and inviting to him, but he knew he deserved no better.

He began checking the faces, lifting blankets, nodding appropriately to those who acknowledged his prescense. He had just about given up all hope when he caught a faint trace of red hair, highlighted against the sun. Upon a closer look, Cal realized it was Rose. She was sitting huddled under a blanket, wrapped loosely around her face, sipping hot tea. Her face was white as a ghost, and her eyes were dull and lifeless. She gave no indication that she knew she was being watched, nor did she pay any attention to the chaos surrounding her, until Cal grew closer.

In an instant, anger burned into her eyes, and Rose stared at Cal with a bitter glance, yet making no motion to flee the deck as he would have expected of the old Rose he had thought he had known so well. Yet in the last handful of hours, he had learned that Rose was really a passionate and headstrong woman with a fiery temper to match. She was capable of making her decisions and more importantly, capable of being loved.

"Yes, I lived. How awkward for you." She spoke roughly, sipping the tea to soothe her hoarse throat.

Cal glanced downward at first, and then stared directly into her eyes. "Rose…your mother and I have been looking for you."

Rose made no attempt to answer him and simply cocked her head slightly towards him. The blanket had now fallen down around her chin, exposing more of her matted curls. "I believed you would, even though after your actions last night, I would have expected differently."

"I can do nothing about my actions Rose, except to apologize sincerely for them as a gentleman and for any harm or pain I have caused you last night and over the course of our engagement."

She seemed taken aback by his words, an apology the last thing she had expected from her conniving fiancé. "You are no gentleman, Cal."

The words stung slightly at first, but Cal knew he deserved them. Glancing around, he made a quick motion with his hands. "Where's Jack?"

Rose dropped her eyes to the deck and sipped at her tea once again. "He died so I could live," she replie simply, knowing Cal was not deserving of the details of what really had taken place last night.

"I am so sorry, Rose." Cal cleared his throat and swallowed the lump that had unknowingly formed over the course of several minutes. "It is entirely your decision as to what you choose to do when this ship docks. As far as your mother knows, you are still missing and I have simply gone looking for you. What I tell her upon my return is entirely up to you."

When Rose simply said nothing in response, he continued. "As of this moment, our engagement is off, and you are free to do whatever you wish, and I do wish you the best of luck in whatever you decide. Do not worry about your mother, either. She will be taken care of for the rest of her life, I promise you that. You're a strong and poised young woman, Rose, and I'm sorry I didn't realize it sooner and treat you the way you ought to have been treated."

After several seconds, Rose adjusted the blanket around herself. "Thank you," she whispered. Pausing slightly, she continued on. "Tell my mother that her daughter died with the Titanic."

Cal nodded in understanding, and began to retreat slightly. "You're precious to me, Rose."

Rose made no attempt to glance back at him. Instead, she adjusted the blanket around her frame and sipped at the dregs of her tea. "Jewels are precious. Goodbye, Mr. Hockley."

_

* * *

**April 18, 1912**_

8:45 PM

Cal fingered the envelope numbly in his hands, glancing upward at the Statue of Liberty from underneath the umbrella he had been loaned from a first class passenger. A bitter, chilly rain had begun to fall steadily an hour ago, suitable for the tradgedy that had just taken place days beforehand. If anything, it suited his mood, and he dreaded having to face his father at the pier. He had wired the old man immediately after boarding, stating that Rose had been lost at sea and that he would need a car to meet him at the pier, as well as a hotel room for the night at the Waldorf-Astoria under his name. In the morning, he would travel to his manse in Philadelphia, and then, his father's home in Pittsburg to take care of some business.

Ruth DeWitt-Bukater stared back at him sadly underneath the umbrella she was sharing with Margaret Brown several feet away. The two women had found solace in each other, and Cal was silently glad, but at the same time, he felt terribly guilty. He so desparetly wanted to tell Ruth the truth, that her daughter, the only thing she felt she had left in the world after the death of her beloved husband, was alive. But he had made a promise to Rose, and given her his word as a gentleman, and as much as he wanted to take all of Ruth's pain away, he couldn't bring himself to tell her. Hopefully one day, sooner rather than later, Rose would come out of the shadows and mother and daughter could be reunited.

He nodded to her briefly and turned away from her, walking down the deck to a spot where he couldn't be disturbed. Leaning over the railing, it was then that he caught sight of _her. _

Rose's hair was hanging limply in her face, drenched from the rain pouring from the sky. She was wearing his overcoat from the night of the sinking, and Cal could make out the same, tattered dress she had worn underneath it. The poor thing looked so lost and desolate, yet so determined as she stared up at Lady Liberty.

It was then that Cal remembered the envelope in his hand. The moniker on the front had been smeared by a raindrop, but it was still visible. Carefully, he protected it underneath the umbrella and managed to flag down a passing steward.

"Mr. Hockley, how may I be of assistance?"

Cal pointed towards the poop deck, in Rose's direction. He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Do you see that woman right there, sir? Her name is Rose."

"Yes, of course, sir. The one with the red hair in the overcoat." The steward nodded with enthusiasm.

"See that this letter gets to her immediately. It's very important." For good measure, he removed his money clip from his belt and handed the steward a $20 tip.

The steward seemed slightly taken aback at the generous amount of compensation he was receving for delivering a simple letter, but he obliged all the same. "Of course, sir. Thank you kindly. I'll see that she gets it."

"Thank you," Cal acknowledged, sliding his money clip back underneath his belt. And from his perch on the deck, he watched as the steward politely intercepted Rose, made brief conversation, and handed her the letter. He saw the confusion in her face, but was surprised when she didn't open it right away. Instead, she placed it in her pocket and continued staring up at the star filled sky.

_

* * *

_

_Minutes before…_

"_Excuse me, Miss? Miss Rose?"_

Rose snapped out of her reverie and turned her head, finding a middle aged steward tapping her lightly on the shoulder and calling her name. How did he…?

"I'm terribly sorry to disturb you, Miss, but a gentleman requested I deliver this letter to you. I didn't mean to startle you," he apologized quickly.

Rose grasped the letter lightly in her left hand, finding her name smeared on the front. "It's all right. Thank you. Might I ask whom gave you this letter?"

The forgetful steward blundered over the name. "I'm not sure, Miss. He seemed to know you, though."

"Thank you." Rose watched as the steward nodded and walked away. Turning the envelope over, she simply pocketed it. Usually she possessed quite a curiosity for all things mysterious and unexplained, but tonight, she had no desire, no will to do anything. She wanted to desparetely sleep for the next week or so to forget everything; Jack, her mother, Cal, the sinking, her father's death. Everything.

She was surprised when her knuckles scratched against something hard and smooth in the coat pocket beneath the letter. Confused, she sunk her hand in deeper and pulled out the object quickly, surprised when to her avail, she discovered the Heart of the Ocean cupped in her palm. Rose hadn't seen the diamond since the night of the sinking, and was surprised to find it in her coat. But, she realized…she was wearing Cal's overcoat, and sometime in the haste of that night, he must have placed it in his pocket for safekeeping. _Was he missing it? Should she return it? _Surely he was missing it by now, unless he intended for her to keep it, and that was absurd.

She had little time to think about the diamond when an immigration officer approached her, clipboard in hand. "Can I take your name please, love?"

Rose stared at him. "Dawson. Rose Dawson."

_The life of Rose DeWitt-Bukater, sheltered society girl, would now be nothing more than a memory. _

* * *

The flashbulbs and swarms of people had long since died down around Pier 54, but yet Rose still found herself huddled on a metal bench, away from the leftover bustle. She had no recollection of the time, but assumed it had to be somewhat after midnight now.

The cold rain had continued to fall and only gotten heavier and steadier over time. Rose was soaked to the bone; her dress and overcoat plastered uncomfortably to her skin and her hair hanging in her face like a tangled, rusty mop. She had stopped shivering long enough, blocking out the coldness in an instant. Inside, she was completely numb to anything and everything.

She was so lost in her own thoughts that she never realized that a middle aged, well dressed woman with a large brimmed hat had approached her, holding an umbrella. She only broke out of her reverie when the woman reached out and grasped her arm gently.

"Excuse me, Miss? Are you in need of assistance?"

Rose stared up at her with cold eyes at first, but was taken aback by her kind face and warm smile. "Pardon me?"

"It's just that you've been sitting here for quite some time now, and I was wondering if I could point you in the right direction." When Rose didn't answer, the woman continued. "I run a small woman's shelter a couple of blocks away from the pier, and I'd like to offer you a place to stay. Pardon me for being so blunt, but you look like you need it."

Rose nodded. "That's kind of you." She paused briefly. "Honestly, I have nothing. My husband died on the Titanic, I have no clothes on my back, and only ten dollars in my pocket. I don't know where to go from here, so I've just been sitting, hoping that I can find some sort of absolution."

The woman nodded sympathetically, moving closer to Rose so that the umbrella shielded both of them from the downpour. "I'm Margaret O'Neill, dear. I'm terribly sorry to hear of your loss. I too know the pain of losing a loved one. My husband died several years ago, and I remarried last year to a wonderful man, Walter. He and I run the woman's shelter together."

"I'm sorry to hear of your loss."

"Times heals all wounds, dear. If you remember nothing else, remember that. Might I have your name?"

"Rose Dew…Dawson. Rose Dawson," she quickly corrected herself. Years of being accustomed to a certain name would not disappear overnight.

"How old are you, Rose?" Margaret questioned.

"Seventeen, but I'll be eighteen in July."

Margaret sighed. "So young for such a terrible tragedy. Come on now, I'll lead the way. Once you get a warm meal in you and take a hot bath, you'll be feeling much better, I promise."

The walk had only taken several minutes, and before she had expected it, Rose found herself trudging up the steps of a three story brick brownstone home in a presumably nice part of the city. The front was kept well, with a tended garden of flowers and a gate that separated it all from the sidewalk. In the center of the flower patch was a medium sized sign, recognizing the brownstone as _O'Neill's Home for Displaced Women._

Already, a plan had formed in her head. As broken of a woman as she was now, Rose was too proud to accept charity when others were still so much less fortunate than she was. She would stay for a few days, perhaps give herself a chance to recover and mourn appropriately, and then, she would move on, as she promised Jack. _I will never forget_, she thought to herself as she silently trudged up the stairs behind Mrs. O'Neill. _But, I will move on._

"I'll show you right upstairs to your room, dear. I can tell you're exhausted, and I don't want to trouble you. I'll come to you tomorrow and explain more about the home."

Rose nodded, her grief once again setting in. It tugged at her heart so fiercely that it took all she had to bite her lip and keep from crying out in anguish. "Thank you," she managed instead. "You've been so kind."

Once inside, she climbed a second set of stairs that led to a row of doors. Mrs. O'Neill paused at the fourth one down, and taking out a small brass key ring, she unlocked it carefully. Once open, the room revealed two comfortable looking beds, a dresser, a basin and pitcher, and a small desk and lamp.

"Usually we place our girls two at a time, but I can tell you need time to yourself. There's a nightgown in the bottom drawer for you. I'll be by in the morning with your breakfast tray. You can join us downstairs in the morning, if you change your mind and feel up to it."

Rose nodded politely, eyeing the bed. She was so tired, and nothing would feel better than to sleep to forget. "All right."

Mrs. O'Neill nodded. "Good night, Mrs. Dawson."

"Goodnight," Rose replied monotonously. It wasn't until Mrs. O'Neill's eyes were off of her and the door was shut that she allowed herself to give into her grief.

The tears came slowly at first as she made her way over to the dresser, silently falling in rivers down her porcelain cheeks. She removed the pale pink nightgown and began stripping off her clothes until she was in nothing but her shift and underwear. She slid the nightgown over her head and buttoned all three buttons before somehow managing to fold her ruined clothes and Cal's coat over the desk chair.

She shook with sobs as she pulled back the quilt, burying her face into the pillow. She thought of Jack at first, then of her mother, and finally, Cal. Of his kind words to her and his apologies on the _Carpathia_, and wondered, in her delirious state of mind, if she had made a mistake.

It only made her cry harder, yet somehow, after a half hour spent in her own misery, the hazy border between sleep and wakefulness hit her hard, and she welcomed it. For a few hours, at least, she would not feel anything.


	2. Despair

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from James Cameron's Titanic. No profit is being made off of this story.

A/N: You all are wonderful! I'm glad you are all enjoying this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it:o) Please, keep reviewing; I'd love to keep hearing what you all think!

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_May 4th, 1912_

Pittsburg had not changed for Cal in the six months since he had left it behind for grandeur in Europe. As his Renault rolled up the long, paved driveway of the Hockley estate, he glanced out the window, looking for something, anything out of place. Anything that would make him painfully aware of the tragedy that had just taken place. Yet as he stepped out of the car and the driver came around to assist him with his bags, there was nothing that Cal could see differently. The lawns were perfectly mowed and the gardens brilliantly landscaped, as per usual. The mansion had been freshly repainted and the windows washed. The Hockleys were fortunate; one of the finest families of the north. The Hockleys always had the finest luxuries. Hockley was a name to be loved and feared at the same time.

Cal couldn't help but hang his head as he entered the mansion. Today, the proud and arrogant son of a bitch was gone, and in its place remained a shamed, scorned shell of a man. _Today, he was embarrassed to be a Hockley._

"And the bags, sir? Shall I place them upstairs?"

He nodded. "Yes. In the bedroom."

"Right at once, sir."

Cal replayed the events of the past few weeks in his head. He had spent a week in New York after the Carpathia had docked, and then it had been on to Philadelphia and his mansion on business. The wedding had been officially cancelled and the newspapers notified. Rose's death announcement had been placed, and memorial preparations had gone into act. Ruth, now living with Molly Brown and her husband in New York, had mentioned her desire to sell the DeWitt-Bukater mansion, and in turn, he had promised her that he would look into a reputable broker and get it up on the market.

He ascended the stairs slowly and made his way into his parlor that adjoined his bedroom. It was pristine, untouched aside from having been cleaned and dusted by the housekeeping staff, and it was a safe haven, and always had been. He sighed and loosed the tie around his neck, searching for his tumbler in the process. He walked over to the bookcase and removed the bottle of brandy and poured it into the glass.

He took a swig, letting the hot liquid burn the back of his throat and carried the glass with him out onto the terrace. It was there that he found his mother in his favorite lounge chair, curled up with a book in her lap. Cal managed a smile, his first genuine smile in weeks, as he came up behind her and kissed her briefly on her left cheek.

Startled, she closed her book and turned, but smiled and embraced him gently as only a mother could. "Caledon," she smiled. "How was your trip?"

He ran a hand over his unshaven face and sighed as he sat down next to her. "All business, as per usual."

"You know that's not what I was asking."

Cal swallowed. He had been avoiding talking about _Titanic _or Rose whenever the topic arose, but he could never hide his true feelings from his mother. Eleanor Hockley was a woman who had given her children and husband nothing but love, but was not a woman to be deceived. He knew this, and chose his words carefully, not wanting to divulge too many details. When the time was right, one day he would divulge his secret about Rose.

"It was…terrible and I don't wish to speak much of it. I acted far from how a gentleman should and I lost my fiancée in the process."

Eleanor nodded and patted his hand. The afternoon rays caught the silver in her dark brown hair as she rested back against the lounge chair. "Losing Rose was not your fault. You're far too stubborn, just like your father, and you hide your emotions well. A day will come when you will no longer be able to hide. You have to learn to forgive yourself of your sins. Forgiveness is not something you have allowed yourself to feel."

_The good Christian woman speaks. _"You don't understand, Mother!" He huffed and he swallowed another mouthful of brandy. "I can't even begin to explain, and I can never forgive myself."

"Cal—"

Bitterly, he shook his head and retreated away from her several steps. "Does Father wish to see me?"

"Yes." She reopened her book and peered at him over the edge of her glasses. "He's been waiting for you in his study."

Briskly, he walked forward and kissed Eleanor on her cheek. "I'm sorry for raising my voice to you. I just…need time."

"Yes, of course."

Cal nodded and closed the terrace door behind him. His mother always reached out to him; his father never, and now he had to face the latter, and he would get no sympathy from him.

* * *

The solid oak doors to Nathan Hockley's study were closed, which meant only one thing to Cal; for it had been trained into his head ever since he was a young boy. He was to knock, and then enter. He did so, gripping the brass knob tightly in his hand.

The study was neat, in working condition, and behind the rosewood desk was his father, writing in his business ledger while sorting through a stack of papers. He did not look up, and simply continued on with his business.

Cal cleared his throat, pouring more brandy from his father's supply into his tumbler. "Mother told me you wished to see me before supper."

Nathan finally glanced up, peering up at his eldest son over the edge of his glasses. "Yes…there are a few things that need to be discussed." The old man rose sturdily behind his desk, his full height of six feet nearly overshadowing Cal, and he removed his glasses. "First things first, how is the mill in Philadelphia running?"

Cal took a swig of the brandy before responding. He knew it would come to this, for it always had before. "Running well and with no problems. The orders that you had placed last month have been exported to California, and the other is en route to Boston."

"Very well, indeed. And there have been no more strikes?" Nathan questioned, walking towards the bay window and glancing out onto the lawn.

"None that I have been made aware of. The overseers and I spoke in great detail." Cal lifted the tumbler to his lips once again and took another burning sip. "And the Pittsburg mill?"

"Wonderful and riot-free. There must be something you're doing wrong, Caledon, if these riots keep surfacing at the Philadelphia mill. But, perhaps, in time, you will learn.

"Perhaps," Cal replied snarkily, but it went unnoticed. "Will that be all, or…?"

"For now, yes. We can not have rioting at the mills, do you understand? I will need a weekly report from you until the situation is under control."

"For the past two months it has been under control. I see no such reason for me to report weekly to you when I report monthly on the mill as it is."

Nathan turned from the window and walked back towards his desk. "You forget your place quickly, Caledon. And as long as I am in control of Hockley Steel, you will obey my orders. When I have passed on and the business is in your hands, you may do what you wish. But that is not the case right now, I will not tolerate your insolence."

Cal scoffed and this and headed for the door. "You seem to forget that I am also your son and not one of your mill workers." With that, he slammed the heavy door behind him and headed briskly towards his parlor. Upon entering it, he paced briefly before his bottled up anger overcame him. He flung the tumbler angrily at the bookcase and watched as the tiny shards fell onto the floor before collapsing into his leather chair with his head in his hands.

* * *

_New York, New York_

_May 10th, 1912_

The days passed slowly for Rose, and in the nearly three weeks she had been at O'Neill's, she rarely retreated from her room, except for supper each night. And even at supper she was quiet and reserved, only speaking when spoken to. She knew Mrs. O'Neill and the other girls were worried about her, but she rarely paid them any mind.

She barely recognized herself in the mirror anymore. She had lost weight from scarcely eating, and it showed. Her dresses hung off of her now frail body, and her face had become gaunt and pale from lack of sunlight. Her abundant red curls hung limply now, and the color had become brassy and faded. She looked terrible and she knew it, but she didn't care. Nothing mattered to her anymore, not since losing Jack.

And _Jack._ As the days wore on, she had come to terms with his death. _He had died saving her, and for that she could never be more thankful. _In the three short days she had come to know him, he had taught her more about a life that she had yearned for all along and for that she'd be forever thankful.

At the same time, Rose was bitter. Jack had left her to build the life they had talked about building together alone and had left her to suffer this way. In a way, she had wished she, too, had perished in the Atlantic. She knew she wouldn't survive my longer if she continued living in the way she had been, yet it was too painful to take a step out of her misery, which was the only thing familiar to her nowadays. The doctor had been to see her several times, yet each time his diagnosis was the same. _Depression. Shock._

The knock on her door disturbed her delirious thoughts. It had been a dreary evening, and Rose had not bothered to get out of bed, so it came as no surprise when the door creaked open ever so slightly to reveal Mrs. O'Neill. She entered with a supper tray, and the smell of chicken soup and bread permeated Rose's nostrils. Her stomach rumbled in protest, and she rolled over slowly in greeting.

"Rose, dear. I've brought you your supper." The tray was set down on the small writing table carefully, and Margaret O'Neill drew closer, wringing her small hands over her apron. "Rose?"

Rose opened her eyes, still clutching the quilt to her chest. "Yes. Thank you."

Sighing, Margaret patted Rose's leg and seated herself on the edge of the bed. "Rose…we need to talk." When there was no answer from Rose, she continued, slowly. "Walter and I, as well as the girls here, are very worried about you. You hardly withdraw from your room or socialize. You haven't eaten in days, nor have you taken care of your appearance, forgive me for saying so. You're grieving in such a way that I feel I can not reach you. Where are you, Rose?"

Rose opened her eyes and stared hazily at Mrs. O'Neill's form. "I'm here."

"There are people that can help you, Rose, if you would only let them in. Perhaps the best thing I could do for you now to send you to the hospital, where a doctor can look over you constantly. They can help you there, Rose, and then when you're better, you can come back to us."

Rose closed her eyes once again, wishing for Margaret to disappear. "Do you mean…you wish to send me to a mental hospital?"

"Not a mental hospital, per se. A clinic, for women. Your grief is so complex, Rose. I only wish I could begin to understand it."

"And if I choose not to go to this hospital?" she questioned defiantly, balling her hands into fists underneath the comforter.

"I'm afraid you have no choice, Rose. We have all tried to reach out for you. If you do not go, you will not be able to stay with us any longer."

Angrily, Rose sat up against the headboard, her tangled, auburn hair falling into her sallow face. "You're throwing me out?"

"Everyone has to contribute to the home, Rose. By now we expected you to have a job; to be making improvements to your life. I'm giving you options, not throwing you out." Mrs. O'Neill sensed Rose's anger and stood up, clutching her apron in her hands. "I will be by in the morning to see what you've decided."

Rose said nothing in response, yet simply waited for the door to close. She quickly sat up and ignored the dizzy feeling in her head while she cautiously rose to her feet and walked over to the writing table. A plan was slowly forming in her head, and it was as if a second wind had been knocked into her. The grief that she had been holding inside for the past three weeks was not her top priority—for now, at least.

She sat down at the table and hungrily gulped down the steaming soup and bread. _She would not let them take her dignity away by sending her to a mental hospital! _She may have been grieving and suffering more than Mrs. O'Neill could ever fathom, but she would not grieve at the home any longer.

Angrily, she pushed the dish to the side and dropped the spoon on the tray. It clattered loudly, but she was determined, and she had a short period of time before Mrs. O'Neill's suspicions would be raised.

She had been bedridden for such a long period of time that her legs were not accustomed to rushing around the tiny room, but Rose trudged on as she began sorting through the select few dresses Mrs. O'Neill had offered her. She settled on a navy colored frock with lace trim along the neckline, wrists, and skirt edge. Not her most flattering color, but it was simple enough to not draw attention, which is what she so desired. She had spent her childhood and adolescence as the forced center of attention, and tonight it would not be so, nor ever again.

Quickly and carefully, she flung the dress over her arm and gathered a newfangled garment that Mrs. O'Neill had also offered her, known as a brassiere. She had never seen such a contraption before in her life, but it looked much more comfortable than the restrictive corsets she had been used to. She also added her freshly washed undergarments to the pile, while gathering a brush, comb, and a pair of scissors in the other hand.

She opened the door of her room and carefully exited it, making sure to glance up and down the hall to check for anyone. She didn't want anyone to question her, or to have to make silly and useless conversation. The bathroom was only at the end of the hall, and Rose reached it quickly. Locking the door behind her, she set all of her items on the small vanity table in the corner near the toilet before kneeling in front of the porcelain bath tub. She reached over for the faucets and began filling it with steaming hot water while she cautiously undressed and discarded her soiled nightgown to the side. She waited a few moments for the tub could fill completely and then submerged herself in it. The minutes passed, and she allowed the steam to relax her sore muscles before lathering her hair with the shampoo. It took her a few moments to work through the tangles. Next came the soap, and as she ran the ragged washcloth over her body, Rose briefly thought of Jack and how his hands had worked their way over her body that night in the Renault. It seemed so long ago, now.

She finished quickly, drained the water and toweled off her body. Making her way towards the vanity, she glanced at her features in depth. It had been the first time in over three weeks since she had seen her face in full detail, and instantly she gasped and brought her hand up to graze her cheek. Her face, pale underneath the light, was gaunt and dark circles drooped underneath her eyes to nearly the top of her cheekbones. _Had she really let herself suffer this much?_

She gripped the brush in one hand and began gliding it through her tangled curls, wincing in pain as it tugged at her scalp. When she was satisfied, she switched to the comb and parted it gently, and with the other hand, she brought the scissors up to her face. The first _snip_ of the scissor shocked her, as one of her beautiful curls landed in the sink, but she continued on, cutting quickly but accurately, until her hair fell to just beneath her shoulders. It was a drastic change, as she was accustomed to her hair falling to nearly the middle of her back, but a welcome one. She smiled at the end result and ran her fingers through its dampness before discarding the towel to the side. She dressed quickly and headed back down to her room, satisfied that she had pulled off such a stunt and had not been bothered.

Without a second glance, she packed the two other dresses Mrs. O'Neill had lent her into a spare valise that had been lying at the foot of her bed since she had arrived. She had had no use for it then, but all the use in the world for it now. She added the brush, comb and shampoo to the pile, and with one last look around, she was satisfied. She clutched it tightly in her palms and set it in front of the door to jot down a quick note with the paper and pen that had been lying untouched on the writing table:

_Mrs. O'Neill-_

_Thank you for everything, but I could not bring myself to stay under your conditions. You've been kind, and I will repay you one day. _

_R. Dawson_

She picked up Cal's overcoat and slid her arms into it. It seemed so much larger now than it did on Titanic, and as she clutched the valise once again, fear overcame her. _Where would she go, and what would she do now?_

She took the stairs nearly two at a time and reached the front door without any disturbance. The world seemed so much more inviting than it ever had been on the steps of O'Neill's, and yet, she was still frightened.

"_Promise me…that you will survive."_

"_You're precious to me, Rose."_

She took the first step off the porch into the night, and sunk her free hand into the coat pocket. To her surprise, she felt something hard, yet remembered right away what it was. _The Heart of the Ocean_. Trembling, she slid it back into her pocket when another item scratched against her hand: something softer, thinner. _The letter._

It all was coming back to her now. The steward on the Carpathia had given her the letter, but she had brushed it aside and pocketed it out of grief. And in Cal's pocket it had remained for three weeks, unread.

Rose was curious now. Who on that ship had spotted her and had gone to the trouble of making sure she received this letter?

She walked down the sidewalk, heading away from the home, and huddled underneath the gas streetlamp to open the envelope. She slid the letter out and began to scan it, her eyes widening with every word.

_Cal. Cal had written the letter._


	3. Rose's Decision

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! You guys are really great and keep me going:o) Sorry for the delay in this chapter. It's been a busy couple of weeks with finals and what not, but expect the next update sooner!

* * *

With trembling hands, Rose bit her lip and read the letter again, slower this time, as if it was a figment of her imagination. She could not even begin to comprehend the meaning behind Cal's letter:

_My dearest Rose,_

_I can imagine your surprise and hesitation upon receiving this letter from me, but fear not, I intend you no harm. These few days spend onboard the Carpathia have allotted me the time to deeply think about my life, my intentions towards you and of my sins during our engagement and of our voyage together on the Titanic. I have not written this to demand your sympathy, but to apologize to you once again, and perhaps explain my sentiments in more depth before we dock tonight._

_I have never been one to show any emotion over trial matters, having been brought up partly by a cold and ruthless father who frowned upon such things. However, because of this, my character has suffered as well, and from a kind and amorous adolescent I have grown up into a spoiled and arrogant man. Because of this, my relationships with my family, business associates, and most importantly, you, have suffered. Patience was never a virtue I could endure, Rose, and neither was jealousy. _

_When I witnessed you and Jack together on the boat deck, I knew instantly that a better man had won something I had longed to- your adoration, respect, and love. Immediately, I realized what a fool I had been during our engagement, and how my cruel actions towards you and my wealth could never buy for me what you saw in penniless Jack Dawson those few short days you both spent together. Perhaps if I had appreciated your very existence I would have been able to have with you what I saw in you and Jack that night. I envied you deeply, for you were experiencing something that I had been striving for day after day- the ability to allow yourself to feel emotion; to love. And now, it seems, it is too late._

_Alas, I am getting off the topic of what I wrote this letter for. My actions on the Titanic were foolish and hateful, and in turn I hurt the one person I desperately wanted, but never allowed myself, to care for. You have my sincerest apologies, Rose, for now I am realizing that I have been hiding behind a façade for the past few years. I have merely been a shell of the man I used to be, and instead of loving you, I blamed you and whoever else crossed my path. Again, I am sorry._

_I know no amount of apologizing can correct the way I have treated you, Jack, or anyone, but I do want to ask your forgiveness. I will not beg, but I hope one day you will find it in your heart to forgive me and allow us to become friends once again. I hope you will allow yourself to witness the Caledon Hockley you should have experienced from the beginning-one that genuinely cared for himself and the well being of others, not what he could buy or threaten with his money. I did love you, Rose, and I hoped to build a prosperous life with you—one filled with adventure, laughter, love, and many beautiful children. _

_Again, I seem to be forgetting myself. Forgive me. As I promised you from our previous engagement on the boat deck, I informed your mother of your "death", and she in turn has found solace in the arms of Margaret Brown. I long to bring myself to speak of all of this to you in person, but I cannot face the disappointment and hatred that burns in your eyes for me, so I will hand this letter to a crew member in hopes that it will reach you in time. _

_I know you are mourning deeply from the loss of Jack, but please, do not dwell on his death forever. It will do you no good, I know from personal experience, but that is another story for another time and place. Remember the memories you both shared, if only for a brief period of time. He will be watching over you for eternity._

_As for me, Rose, I do not know where or what my life will hold upon my return to Philadelphia and Pittsburg. I hope that I am able to start over as a changed man, but it is unfortunate that it took such a tragic event as this one to correct myself. _

_I wish you a happy and prosperous life, filled with the joy and passion you incorporated into your every day and desperately tried to impose in mine. I'll be enclosing my forwarding address at the bottom of this letter in hopes that one day, you will write me. Perhaps our paths will cross again someday, but this time, for the better._

_Yours,_

_Cal_

She was baffled by his kindness; an emotion he had rarely showed her over the course of their engagement. He spoke of things in such a way that Rose did not know if she should laugh or cry at his selflessness in the letter. All feelings aside, one questioned remained, and for that Rose was afraid of the answer. _Could Cal be trusted? _His actions towards her on the _Titanic_ and in Europe proved otherwise. She thought back to the numerous times where he had lost his temper with her and said many terrible and hurtful things. She thought of his jealously; how he framed Jack the night of the sinking and nearly killed them both as he chased them through the sinking ship. Could he really change, as it claimed in his letter to her? And **why** exactly was her writing her a letter, after all that had happened? _Was he trying to trap her into coming back to him, so he could have his prize back and win his selfish game? _And if she went back on her own, would she be able to leave freely again?

So many questions had been raised in Rose's mind that she was afraid of the outcome. Here she was, standing in the middle of a street corner in the great city of New York, with ten dollars in her pocket and no plans to speak of. She had made simple plans with Jack; to ride the rollercoaster until she puked; to drink cheap beer and ride horses in the surf like a man. To spit like a man. And one day in the near future she hoped to accomplish those things. California sounded tempting as the perfect place to start anew, but Rose knew she would not be able to go with Cal's letter weighing so heavily on her mind.

It was an instantaneous decision, and one that Rose knew she could end up regretting. She would be on the first train in the morning, heading west to Pittsburg, and she would give Cal his chance to apologize for his actions, once and for all. Then, she could continue on to California and start her life over—the way she truly wanted it to be.

_She hated to admit that he was the only potential friend she had left, if she could even consider him that._

* * *

Cal was slow to rise the next morning. After the terrible meeting with his father he had gone to dinner, a meal that he had suffered through, for her had nothing to share, nothing of meaning to regale them all with. The only bright spot in the whole meal had been when his mother had announced over the bread pudding that his younger sister was expecting her first child.

"_Caledon, while you were away on business last week Mary wrote me. She and Richard are expecting a child in the winter. Isn't that wonderful? You're going to be an uncle! She regrets that you cannot join us in Boston over the next two weeks."_

Cal had nodded and managed a small smile. _"You'll have to give her my congratulations, then. I'm sure she'll be in Pittsburg before the summer has come and gone."_ His baby sister, how he adored her! They had always been close, especially after the summer Peter died. Peter had been the oldest, the leader, and a heart defect had taken him away with very little warning. He shuddered to think of it. Peter would have made an excellent business leader and would have become the man Cal always wished he could be, but never would.

_And Mary._ She was so young, only having just turned twenty-one, and he remembered the past year fondly. Richard Millern had been a family friend; the son of a prestigious Congressman, and he and Mary had met through mutual friends in the summer of 1910. Cal remembered affectionately how Mary had come to him before his parents and had enthusiastically told him how Richard had asked for her hand in marriage. They married in the spring of 1911, and it was at their wedding reception that he had first laid eyes on _Rose_.

Now, nearly a year later, he would have never imagined the uproar she would have caused him. He had gone through nearly an entire bottle of whiskey last night, and after stumbling around the grounds until the early hours of the morning, he had somehow made it back upstairs to his bedroom and had passed out in a drunken stupor. Now he was paying for it with an equally atrocious hangover to match.

He slowly made his way out of his four poster bed, tossing back the linen sheets and comforter in a huff. With uneasy steps he managed to slide on his maroon housecoat and slippers and stepped out of his bedroom and into the foyer. He needed a cup of tea and toast; anything to settle his stomach.

The mansion was unusually quiet, and as he passed the grandfather clock near the stairs, it began chiming eleven. Cal couldn't remember the last time he had ever slept so late; not even in his Harvard days. As he made his way down the stairs, the pounding migraine began to set in, and for once in his life he wished that he lived in a simpler house and that the kitchen wasn't such a far distance.

His parents had left for Boston early that morning to spend two weeks vacation with Mary and her husband, which meant that for those two weeks, the Philadelphia and Pittsburg branches of Hockley Steel would be in his control. Rising this late meant that he would be getting a late start. There were ledgers to fill and wires from the foreman to check, but right now his intention was breakfast, and then he would begin to take the day as it came at him.

He was nearly outside of the kitchen and has just passed the library when he caught sight of the housekeeper, Marion, at the far end of the corridor, dusting the bookcases. She was a middle aged woman, heavyset and wore a kind smile. She had kept the house in order for over ten years now, and he had come to respect her, not only as a servant, but as a friend.

"Good morning, Mr. Hockley. Can I get you anything this morning?"

"No, thank you," he replied sullenly, rubbing at his temples. "I'll be fine on my own."

"Very well, sir." She nodded curtly and continued about her business, while Cal finally entered the kitchen. It took him several moments to locate the porcelain tea cups, for he rarely entered the kitchen. He was accustomed to having his meals served in the dining room and anything else brought to him by servants. His father would be appalled if he had found him down here, but for once, he was master of the household, and could go about as he pleased.

Several minutes later he poured the steaming water from the teapot into the teacups and added the tea bag. He slumped against the servant's table and rested his head in his hands, lifting the cup to his lips every so often.

The next thing he knew, he felt a pair of warm hands resting gently on his shoulders. He sat up groggily, eyes darting around the kitchen suspiciously. He caught sight of Marion, hands folded neatly together above her apron now, and she nodded at him.

"My apologies for waking you, Mr. Hockley, but you have a visitor."

Cal scoffed at this and rubbed at his temples once again. _Had he fallen asleep?_ "At this ungodly hour?"

"It is one in the afternoon, sir," Marion pointed out tempestuously. "Shall I show her to the library?"

"_She?_" he questioned, standing to his feet now. The tea, now lukewarm, tasted stale to him now, and he set it on the table in frustration. "Did she give her name? I can't possibly see her or anyone right now in my state. I'm not even dressed. Get her name, and have her come back tomorrow." _The arrogant, son of a bitch was coming back out of him now, and in full force._

"Might I say, sir…that you would want to see her." Marion grew pale at the last sentence, and gripped the edge of the chair.

Cal's eyes grew large in his head, and he urged her to sit down in his place. "Are you all right? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"I…think I have."

"Preposterous! Who is the woman? I will take care of this immediately." He whirled around and headed for the door.

"Mr. Hockley! I swear it, I saw her with my own eyes. She's…Rose DeWitt-Bukater."

* * *

Rose had managed to navigate her way to the train station by the first light of dawn, and luckily enough, she did not have to wait long for the first train headed west. She paid for a third class ticket and slept until the train stopped just outside of Philadelphia. She had to admit, it was a strange feeling to travel alone, for she had long gotten used to traveling with, at the very least, several servants. It was very freeing to have the opportunity to sit back and take in her surroundings without being scolded on proper manners or having to follow a set schedule.

She arrived in Pittsburg just after noon, and disembarked shortly after. It was then that the real challenge of her journey presented itself. _Rose had no idea how or where the Hockley mansion was located._ It seemed downright silly, as she had been there several times, yet she had always traveled with chauffeurs that knew the streets of Pittsburg and Philadelphia very well.

Rose had managed to locate one of the street vendors, and they had been kind enough to give her directions, although it had not come easy.

_The older man continued pushing on his cart of wares as they spoke, eyeing her with distaste. "It's about a mile in that there direction." He pointed to the east and took of his cap, wiping off the sweat that had accumulated on his bald head. "Can't imagine what business you might have there, though."_

"_I'm visiting an old friend, thank you very much," she replied stoutly. _

The walk had taken less than an hour, once Rose had gotten her bearings. She vaguely recognized some of the landmarks that she often passed en route to the mansion, although this time, there was no carriage or Renault to bring her to her destination.

Her feet ached as she reached the top of the hill and sloping drive of the mansion came into view. The lawn was perfectly landscaped, and it brought her back to another memory as she climbed; a memory of her first meeting with Cal, before there was any talk of marriage.

It was all her mother could talk about for weeks. The wedding of Mary Hockley and Robert Millern was gossiped to be the event of the season, ranked even higher than the many debutante balls, including Rose's own, which was to take place several weeks later. The invitation had arrived weeks before, and even in mourning, Ruth was adamant on attending. She remembered remaining sullen that morning as she was dressed by her servants, and throughout the church service she barely spoke, much to her mother's distaste.

The reception was lively, and the only joy that she allowed herself to feel that day was towards her two closest friends, Sarah and Anna. It wasn't until much later that she was first introduced to Cal, and to Rose, the meeting had been unpleasant and brief. She was courteous towards him, and accepted his sympathy over her father's untimely death, and danced with him once or twice. Ruth had been elated, and the Hockley's name had been the first on her list of debutante invitations.

"_He's a good match for you, Rose. He can provide for not only you, but for us. God knows the situation your father left us in when he died."_

In a way, she had been right.

She shook herself out of her reverie as the gates to the Hockley mansion grew near; the large iron "H" gleaming in the mid afternoon sun. She slipped through the gates unnoticed and continued up the drive, wringing her hands together nervously. _Was she making the right decision?_

A part of Rose felt as if she was betraying Jack and all they had stood for together by seeking out the enemy. She wanted so badly to turn away and run to Santa Monica and forget all about Cal and her previous life. If she closed her eyes just enough, she could almost picture it, as Jack had left no detail out.

Curiosity kept her rooted to the porch and lifted her hand to pull the doorbell. The door creaked open almost instantly, as if it had been expecting her all along, and Rose found herself face to face with Marion, the Hockley's housekeeper.

Marion gasped at the sight of Rose, her hand immediately flying up to cover her gaping mouth. "_Miss DeWitt-Bukater?"_

Rose nodded slowly, wanting to correct her regarding her recently changed surname, but the poor woman seemed to be in enough shock already. How could she blame her? She fathomed she would react the same way if a woman that she had known to be presumed dead had shown up at her home, as well.

"How can this _be_?" she practically whispered. "You're not…you can't be…"

"I need to speak with Cal immediately," Rose pressed on, ignoring Marion's actions. "It is urgent."

Marion stood stunned, yet managed a small nod. "Yes. He'll be just a moment." She nearly closed the door in Rose's face but remembered herself at the last moment. "Please, step into the foyer."

"Thank you," Rose replied quietly. She watched as Marion disappeared down the hall, glancing back over her shoulder every so often. Several moments later, she heard loud voices, and then footsteps. Glancing upward, she tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and took a deep breath. She shut her eyes briefly to clear her conscience. _She could do this. She would ask her questions, and then be on her way._

"Rose?"

Her blue eyes shot open, and she came face to face with Cal.

* * *


	4. Old, Familiar Sting

A/N: Thank you guys so, so much! I never thought I'd get that great of a response to the letter AND the last chapter. I'm really honored you guys loved it so much. ArticLilly- I love 'Hurt' by Johnny Cash, and after I read that I went back to listen to the song and I agree, it really does fit Cal. I didn't mean to make you cry, either, lol. And Tipper, thanks for pointing out the mix up about Mary's husband. I meant Robert, not Richard. I don't know why I mixed them up and I didn't even catch it. And to my other two reviewers: Purple Rhapsody and Angel of Beauty, you guys are great!

Sorry this part took a little while to get up. There are a lot of emotions in this chapter so I wanted to try and get them all out without it coming across as too rushed or confusing. Does that make sense? Probably not, lol.

* * *

May 11th, 1912

_Day_

Cal was amazed at the sight before his eyes. _Was he dreaming? Had the hangover taken over more of his mind then he thought?_ Rose was standing before him, voluntarily. She had come back, nearly a month since he had last seen her on the deck of the Carpathia, on her own. And, to put it lightly, she looked like hell on earth. She looked to have lost a drastic amount of weight, as the navy blue dress underneath his now ratty overcoat appeared to swallow her up whole. Her gaunt cheekbones protruded sharply against her fair skin, and her once beautiful red hair had faded to a copper color. Her hair also seemed to have been shorn recently, as it hung limply against the sides of her face. She looked exhausted, but beautiful. _Always beautiful to him_.

"What are you…Are you ill? You look terrible. I mean, that's not _what_ I mean. Would you like to sit, or perhaps lie down? Please, sit down, if you'd like? Can I get you anything?" he babbled on. He sighed and rested a hand against his temple. "What I'm trying to say is, what _are_ you doing here, I suppose."

Rose stared at him, a small chuckle escaping her lips. The scene would have been altogether hilarious if it hadn't been so serious. She was amazed to see a side of Cal in the mere minute she had been in his mansion than she had seen in the six months of their engagement; a side of him that was genuinely concerned about her feelings. She removed his letter from her pocket and held it in front of her as if it were a protective barrier separating them.

"I found this in my coat pocket yesterday. I want to know why," she replied defiantly, looking him straight in the eye.

Cal glanced down at the envelope she held before him. _His letter_. He had thought she would read it sooner, but apparently it remained forgotten about in the bottom of his coat pocket. "After we spoke on the Carpathia, there was so much left that I felt I needed to express to you. I've never been good with emotions, so I chose to write you that night. I never fully intended to give it to you until by chance I saw you that night again as we docked. I thought that maybe…"

Suddenly, Rose felt herself growing angry. "Maybe what? Maybe I'd allow you to control me once again? Maybe I'd be weak enough to return to Pittsburgh with you? You thought wrong."

He shook his head. "I thought that maybe, eventually, I could have your forgiveness."

She sighed and glanced away from him, still clutching the letter in his hand. "And what am I supposed to do with this letter? Believe you? Trust you? Accept that you have changed? All I **ever** wanted from you was your respect. I wanted your attention. I wanted us to learn from each other, acquire our different tastes in things together. I wanted to be treated as an equal, _your equal_. I was your fiancée, goddammit. Not a foreman in one of your mills. You never had to buy my love, especially with that ridiculous heavy necklace." In frustration, she pulled the Heart of the Ocean out of her pocket, much to Cal's surprise. "You were too stupid to see that all I wanted from you was companionship, for you to accept who I was, flaws and all, and love me for them."

Cal said nothing; but settled on to the marble steps of the staircase in defeat, head in his hands. He was seriously regretting the bottle of whiskey he had consumed last night, as it was making it difficult to think or form a response clearly.

"And I know I was difficult and that frustrated you. I know you felt as if you could never reach me, and I pulled away because you were too headstrong, too arrogant. I had just lost my father, and my ridiculous mother was pushing me into an engagement with you; something I didn't want, not at that moment. I wanted to mourn for him, and I feel as if I never properly had that chance."

"And Jack? What was Jack? What did he have that I didn't?" Cal glanced up and shouted at her, still positioned on the stairs. He thought briefly of Rose's words on the deck of Titanic and how they had stung:

"_I'd rather be his whore than your wife._"

"Do you know what really happened that night, when I slipped on the ship's rail, Cal? Are you really so dense to think that I was simply looking at the propellers? I hate to admit this to you, but I tried to commit suicide that night. I wanted to die, because I felt as if no one was listening to me. Every day, I felt as if I was standing in the middle of a crowded room, screaming at the top of my lungs. No one ever looked up. Jack was the only one, after he pulled me back over, to look up."

Cal looked up again at stared at her. He felt his mouth suddenly go dry and a lump form in his throat. Had he done all this to Rose? Had he been such a monster to put her through all this pain; to make her want to take her own life? "You wanted to take your own life…because of me?"

Rose felt the tears well up in her eyes now. She had promised herself that she would not cry; not in front of Cal; not here, not now. But looking down on him now, she could see that he was just as broken as she was, and she was finally saying all the things to him she had wanted to tell him all along. "Not just because of you. There was so much pressure on me, and I felt as if I could never become the person everyone wanted me to be. I was always a disappointment. I felt as if I would have been better off. My mother, my father's death…there were many things, Cal. You were only a small part of a very large depression. Jack was…he was wonderful to me. He was an outlet for so many different things. And if he had survived, I'm sure we would have started our lives together. But he didn't survive, and I did, although I've been walking around like I **am** dead. The past month has been hell for me. And then after reading your letter I thought that if there was one person left that just might understand me after all, it could be you."

He stood up and walked closer to her, until they were just several feet away. "I want you to know that I meant every word in that letter. I have no hidden motive, no alibi to speak of. Whether or not you may believe this, I did care about you in my own way, even if I didn't show it half of the time. I was envious of you, Rose, and I tried to control you so much because I could no longer be as much of a free spirit as you were. I gave that up in my youth long ago. There are too many eyes on me now and always have been, but if there is one thing that this tragedy has taught me is that only one opinion of myself matters: my own. Not my father's, not society. Mine."

Rose glanced at him sadly and shook her head. "Do you know…how much you hurt me?" she whispered softly, so quietly that Cal had to take a step forward to hear her. "How many times…we hurt each other?"

He rubbed his temples in slow circles. _What else could he say to her, to convince her that he was making amends and changing for the better?_ _What else could burn the painful memories of nearly a year between them?_ "I don't know what else to say to make what happened between us right. I'm so sorry. I've been a fool, and in some ways I still am. I could sit, stand, shout out for the whole world to hear my apologies towards you and it would never be enough. I put you through a terrible pain. If you never want to speak to me again, I'd more than understand. It's what I deserve."

"I just…" Rose groaned in frustration and flung her hands up in the air, still clutching the necklace in one hand and the letter in the other. "I don't know!

"Did you love him?"

The question still ran rampant in her mind. _Had she ever loved Jack Dawson?_ Or had she merely been in love with the idea of a life so different than hers? She had cared for him in a very short period of time, but she was so confused now. "Don't ask me that," she responded. "Please, not now."

He nodded. "Did you love me, then?"

Tears brimming in her eyes, Rose paused. In the beginning, she had felt something between them, certainly. There had been a spark all along, but as the months passed, their courtship had begun to unravel, mostly at her own doing. She was so young, so naïve. Cal never gave her the attention she so desperately seeked, yet he continued to shower her with gifts to buy her affection. _The Heart of the Ocean._ "If the circumstances were different, I believe I could have grown to love you."

Uncertain of what to say next, Cal simply stood still, eyes glued to the marble tile of the foyer. At that moment, he felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. _Rose had never loved him_. But…she could have grown to?

Rose witnessed the look of defeat on Cal's face and began to sob quietly. She was so tired; tired of the guilt, tired of mourning. California never sounded more tempting to her. She had enough money to perhaps find a room to live in, but she would have to find a job quickly…

"_Rose."_

Her thoughts were halted suddenly by Cal's calm voice. She watched as he stepped a little bit closer, looking her straight in the eyes. They stared at each other for a moment, each trying to make sense of what the other had just revealed. She then felt him rest his hands lightly on her trembling arms and felt herself drift forward ever so slightly as he moved his hands forward, gathering her into a loose embrace.

She held her breath for a moment, trying to hide any signs of weakness from him. She so desperately wanted to build up the barriers that kept everyone out; the barriers she had once prided herself on. But it was no use, and the tears began to stream down her cheeks as she choked back a sob.

Cal felt Rose bury her face against his chest and sighed. _What a mess they had both gotten themselves into._ He clutched her tighter as her shoulders racked with sobs. "Shh," he comforted her. "It'll all be all right. That day won't be today, or tomorrow. But each day will be better than the last."

"How can you be so certain?" she sobbed into his chest. "How can you hold me right now, after all the terrible things I said and did to you?"

He shook his head as his other hand came up to stroke her shorn hair. "You forget that I said and did terrible things to you as well. I suppose, not to make a joke out of the situation, that we've been even all along."

"Everything has changed. I wasn't happy in my old life and I'm miserable now. Where do I go from here?"

They pulled away from each other slightly, and Cal dropped his hands to his sides as Rose began to dab at her eyes with the back of his coat sleeve. "What were your plans…after Titanic docked?"

"Jack had told me wonderful stories about Santa Monica. I want to head out west, to California, to start over. A new life. But it's been so hard. I spent a month in a women's shelter in New York, barely eating or speaking to anyone. I was uncooperative, but grateful, and Mrs. O'Neill, the woman that took me in, gave me two options. She wanted me to cooperate willingly and admit myself to a mental hospital, or I had to leave. So, I left. I could never…bear to be in such a place."

Cal rested a hand against his temple and balled his other into a tight fist. "By god, what is the name of this woman? I'll have her arrested for endangering your life by throwing you out on the streets."

Rose's eyes grew large, yet she managed to manage the smallest of smiles through her tears. "Cal…you're doing it, again."

"Doing it?" He spoke irritably. _His goddamn migraine was coming back full force._ "Doing what, exactly?" he snapped.

"Controlling me, even if you don't mean to. I'm not your fiancée anymore, Cal. You don't have to go and attack every person in my defense."

He threw his hands up in disgust. "I'm sorry, Rose. I didn't mean to. I suppose it was a habit that I assure you that over the past month I have been breaking out of."

"Apology accepted."

He nodded and towards her again. "I'd like you to stay, Rose," he spoke sincerely.

Rose's eyes grew wide once again for what seemed like the fifth time since their conversation began. _"What?"_ she questioned incredulously. Had she heard him correctly? Cal was inviting her back into his home, something that she had been running from since the Carpathia docked. It had been her intent to come to the mansion and speak to him about his letter and settle a few things between them, but she had never intended to stay or rather, be invited to stay. She had wanted to perhaps burn the bridges between them and continue on her way as Rose Dawson.

However, when Cal had held her in his arms, she couldn't help but feel safe once again. She hadn't felt that way since being with Jack, and had never felt that way previously with Cal. She had always viewed him as the enemy during their engagement and had done everything possible to spite him. But now, even after she had opened her heart to him, he welcomed her into his home. _Had he really started to change?_

"I said," Cal began to repeat slowly. "I'd like you…to stay. At least until you get back on your feet somewhat." The look on Rose's face looked unconvincing, so he cleared his throat and thought of what else to say. "I could use the company over the next two weeks. Perhaps we could even travel to Philadelphia, if you'd like."

He spoke with such sincerity that Rose found it hard to find a reason to turn his offer down. Perhaps it was for the better, at least until she got back on her feet. It would give her a place to rest and recover, and as soon as she saw fit, she would continue on her way. "I, I don't know, Cal," she babbled. "It's a lovely offer, really, but, I'd be imposing. And your parents. How would you explain this to them?"

He rested his hands in the pockets of his robe and grinned. "Quite simply, actually. They're staying in Boston for two weeks with Mary and her husband."

"And if I'm still here when they return?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Please say you'll stay. As a friend…to a friend." He smiled at her and for the first time in a month, she genuinely smiled back.

"I suppose I could stay…as a friend." She turned to him and embraced him gently, kissing his cheek lightly in the process. "Thank you."

He nodded simply, and clapped his hands together. "Well, that's settled them. Let me find Marion and I'll get you settled in upstairs."

Rose nodded gratefully, and allowed him to gently take her arm and lead her up the stairs.

* * *

_Night_

Whether or not she liked to admit it to herself, Rose had settled in comfortably right away. Cal had graciously offered her the largest spare bedroom of the estate, and she found it quite to her liking. The room reminded her of spring sunshine; its pale yellow and white accents found in nearly everything from the wallpaper to the comforter on the bed.

Immediately, a rather shell-shocked Marion had drawn her bath, and while the water ran Rose had managed to reassure the poor housekeeper that she wasn't a ghost risen from the dead, but that she had been alive all along. _A mix up, _she referred to it as, but Marion—or anyone, for that matter, didn't have to know the truth right away.

The bath relaxed her tense nerves, and she found herself soaking in the steaming lavender water for over an hour. For the first time since the sinking, her mind was truly at ease and she felt comfortable, something she hadn't felt in the month she had spent at the O'Neill's. _Was she crazy for staying here?_ Only time would tell, but she had seen a change in Cal, and that made all the difference.

She delicately dried off and wrapped the towel around her body as she entered the bedroom. To her surprise, she found a white cotton nightgown, undergarments, and a matching robe. Next to it were several day dresses of varying fabrics and colors. Rose lightly ran her fingers over the materials and gathered them in her arms, placing them on the vanity chair nearest the bed. Just then, there was a knock at the door, and startled, she nearly dropped her towel.

"Just a minute. I'm dressing," Rose called out, hurriedly changing into the undergarments, nightgown and robe. She gently tugged at her tangled curls with the vanity comb and quickly braided her hair and tied it with the ribbon left next to the comb. "You can come in now."

Cal gently swung the door open with a small smile. "I just wanted to check in on you. I'm heading to bed now. God knows all the work I have waiting for me tomorrow," he joked lightly, as if trying to break the ice between them.

She nodded. "Thank you for the dresses. They're lovely. Really, you didn't have to."

"I knew you would be in need of something to wear. There's a few more upstairs in Mary's room. She left them behind when she moved to Boston with Robert."

"Thank you." They simply stared at each other for a few more moments, and then Cal cleared his throat.

"Well, I'm turning in for the night. If you need anything, you may help yourself," he offered softly. "Goodnight, Rose."

"Goodnight, Cal." She watched as he shut the door, and she walked to the edge of the bed and sat down, pulling back the covers. She sighed and turned off the light, yet several minutes passed before she grew even somewhat comfortable underneath the sheets. Her mind swarmed with questions that had no answers. She wasn't sure if staying at Cal's home was the best solution. A part of her greatly regretted accepting his invitation, but in reality the other, more rational part of herself knew it was for the best. She would look at Pittsburgh as simply a resting spot in her journey to California, her new home. Right?

Still, she could not get rid of the nagging feeling that she was betraying Jack by doing so. She wanted to continue with their dreams to honor his memory, but Rose felt as if she was dragging her feet getting there. So much confusion still hung in the air; Cal's letter, words, and actions still haunting her.

_What had she gotten herself into?_


	5. Change

A/N: Thanks for all of the reviews! They were great and motivating. My summer class recently started this week so I've been a bit busy with that but truthfully I had a hard time writing this chapter and it made me want to pull my hair out at times. So I apologize in advance if it didn't live up to anyone's expectations. It turned into somewhat of a filler to get the story rolling along. I thought that after all the drama in the first couple of chapters there needed to be some light-hearted fun, and that comes along at the end of this one. I promise you all a better and longer chapter next time around. Thanks, and don't forget to review!

* * *

_May 15, 1912_

As the days wore on for Rose, the weight in her chest that she had carried since the sinking seemed to lighten its load on her heart. Although she had settled into somewhat of a routine; sharing breakfast and supper with Cal and having the afternoons to herself, her freedom was still something that would take time to get used to.

She awoke early on the morning of the 15th, so early in fact that it had to be no later then dawn, for the sun had just barely started to peak over the horizon. She dressed quickly, pinning her hair simply up into a twist before making her way out onto the balcony of her room. It had quickly become her favorite place for privacy, especially when she wanted a moment or two alone and today was no different.

_It was hard to believe that it had been a month since the sinking_.

Oddly enough, it was as if she was slowly coming to peace with everything, and although she was sad today, particularly over Jack, she had a hope that the day would turn out better than she had hoped.

She made her way out carefully on to the balcony, running her hand over the soft lavender material of her dress. Just as carefully she rested her arms loosely on the railing and gazed out into the gardens, inhaling the fresh scent of the gardenias and roses, two of her favorite flowers. She was surprised to find that she was not alone.

As Rose had glanced down onto the backyard patio, she made out Cal's tall figure, and in the dim light she could see that he was still dressed in his robe, silk pajamas and slippers. His hair was slightly disheveled, and she could smell the scent of tobacco coming from the cigarette his was smoking. _So she had not been the only one having trouble sleeping_.

Just at that moment it seemed as if Cal had sensed her presence and he glanced up at the balcony, an expression of equal surprise on his face. He managed a tight-lipped smile and nodded to her, lifting his hand in a wave.

She smiled and waved back, but was surprised to find him motioning to her.

"Join me?" he called up to her, and Rose found herself nodding in agreement.

"I'll be right down," she answered back.

* * *

Cal exhaled the cigarette smoke, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for Rose. He had been unable to sleep, and after tossing and turning for most of the night, he gladly gave in and rose for the day. His thoughts had been preoccupied since late yesterday with thoughts of the sinking, and of his actions. _Had it really been a month already? How much had he truly changed?_

He scowled as he old actions slowly started to haunt him; his memories nearly overwhelming him. Of course he **had **changed. It was absurd of him to discourage himself by thinking he had not. Change was a process and did not take place overnight. He knew this well enough from his work at the mills. They did not change overnight; and neither did he.

The patio door slowly creaked open and Rose appeared, a shawl covering her upper body. Although it was May, a chill still hung in the air in the early morning hours, and he was glad he had come out in his robe.

"Good morning," she offered with a slight yawn.

He nodded and put out his cigarette. "I was surprised to see you up at this hour."

"You're not the only one who has been having trouble sleeping," she replied.

"Has it not been comfortable for you here?" he frowned.

She simply shook her head. "For the most part, no, it hasn't. Although at times, I can't help but feel that things are awkward between us."

He sighed and motioned for her to sit at the patio table, where he poured her a cup of tea from the teapot set on the caddy. "Have I changed, Rose?"

She sipped the lemon tea slowly and paused as she set the cup down on the table. "Yes, in some ways I believe you have."

"In what ways?" he gently pushed, pouring his own cup of tea and resting his chin in his palm.

"You're more patient, more caring, less controlling. Less angry." She glanced at him and sighed. "Can I be honest?"

"Of course," he agreed. "I wouldn't want you to be anything but."

"Part of me loves that you have changed, yet the other part believes you're trying too hard."

"Hmm," he groaned. "That's exactly what I've been feeling myself, that I _am_ trying and pushing myself too hard to be a better person for you. Yet sometimes I feel it's as if I'm going two steps forward and three steps back."

"I know the feeling," Rose smiled at him. "I've felt like that every day since the sinking. It's as if I finally think I've come to peace with everything when the memories come back to haunt me full force."

"Agreed," he remarked. "It's been a month since the sinking."

"A very **long** month," she added. "But I've learned a lot in this past month, especially about myself and about you."

Cal leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you think our lives would have been like if we had gone through with our wedding plans and married?"

She laughed sipped at her tea once again. "I think it would have been a disaster. We would have been each other's throats."

"Again, I agree," he chuckled back. "Very much so, as a matter of fact."

She rubbed her hands lightly over her arms. "I think I owe you an apology."

Confused, he cocked his head to the side and shook his head at her. "Rose, I don't understand—"

She held up her hand and he immediately stopped speaking. "I wanted to apologize to you for saying anything that might have seemed…unusual for me when I first arrived; anything that might have made me sound ungrateful, or…"

"Crazy?" Cal chimed in with a laugh. "I have to admit that when you first arrived on my doorstep I was a little taken aback, but just because I simply wasn't used to seeing this side of you. You were outspoken and tempestuous, and I didn't know how to respond. And then when you started talking about Jack, I was lost. I didn't know what to say or do." He sighed and began pacing along the patio. "I know you said not to ask you, but I have to know, Rose. Did you love him? And if so, what did he have that I didn't?"

"He had nothing that you didn't have, or didn't possess. The difference between you and Jack was what he represented and how he presented himself," she replied, rubbing her temples. "He represented freedom, and that's what I loved about him. With him, for the first time I felt like I could be myself. I could say and do whatever I wanted to a point without being criticized or reprimanded. And with you—the old you--, when I tried to speak out and shared my hopes and dreams I **was** criticized. Not just by you, but by others, by society, by my mother. That's the true difference."

"I see," he responded grimly. "I'm sorry, Rose. I wish I could go back in time and take back every illogical and hurtful thing I ever said or did against you but I can't. I can only move forward and prove to you that I am a different person and that I have changed, and I hope one day you'll grow to trust me again."

She nodded sympathetically. "It seems that we have a lot to learn from one another. And to answer your question, I loved everything that Jack stood for, but I don't think I truly ever loved him. Not in such a short period of time. What we shared I will always hold dear to me in my heart but…" she trailed off, not able to finish her sentence.

"I think I'm beginning to understand now," he replied, taking a swig of his tea. "And I won't ask you again."

"Thank you," Rose smiled at him. "All along I've wanted you to understand what happened between Jack and I. I just couldn't give you a simple answer without sorting through my feelings first."

"We _did_ have a way of spiting each other, didn't we?" Cal grinned back at her.

"Yes, we did."

He drummed his fingers lightly against the table and sighed. "It's too early for any more heavy conversation. Would you like to go to the theater tonight?"

Rose's face lit up at his suggestion. She had always enjoyed theater, ever since her father had first taken her to see _The Nutcracker_ ballet during Christmastime. It was the perfect suggestion for an otherwise gloomy day. "I'd love to."

He nodded, standing up and setting his empty teacup on the caddy. "I'll be downtown at the mill for most of the day, but be ready for say, six o'clock?"

"All right," she agreed. "What we will be seeing?"

"That," he smiled, "Is a surprise."

* * *

Rose had been ready for six o'clock as promised, and after having Marion help her find something suitable to wear, she had settled on an ivory satin gown with a beaded bodice, complete with elbow length white gloves and shoes. She had swept her hair up loosely and pinned it with leftover pearl hairpins that Marion had discovered in Mary's old trunk, careful to leave several of her auburn strands down to frame the nape of her neck and her face.

She had been satisfied with the outcome, and as she descended the stairs to meet Cal and the waiting Renault, by the stunned look on his face she could tell that he was more than taken aback.

"You look…stunning," he complimented, not able to pry his eyes off of Rose as he extended his arm.

She had accepted it with a shy smile. "Thank you." She eyed his fancy suit and cuff links and nodded. "And you look very handsome."

Rose couldn't remember the last time she had ever laughed so much, and with Cal. The evening had been truly enjoyable, as they had taken in a revival of Fendrich and Cohan's _Forty-Five Minutes from Broadway,_ a show about the antics and catastrophes of a Broadway show's cast.

As the night ended, she had to stifle back yawn after yawn, and as the Renault slowly rolled up the entrance of the mansion, she allowed Cal to assist her out of the car. They entered the foyer and as Rose removed her shawl, Cal came up behind her and gently rested his hand against her arm. She turned and smiled at him politely.

"Did you enjoy yourself tonight?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Of course I did. Thank you so much, Cal. It's just what I needed."

"I thought you would enjoy it. A few of my business partners had been raving about the revival and I was waiting for just the right time to see it myself."

"It was wonderful, and I'm glad you decided to take me," she chided him.

"Simply put, I love to see you smile," he remarked with a grin. He removed his suit jacket and swung it over his arm. "Goodnight, Rose," he added as he kissed her cheek lightly.

And as she followed him up the stairs, she couldn't help but think that something had finally changed for the better.

* * *

Disclaimer: _Forty Minutes to Broadway belongs to its respective owners, Fendrich and Cohan._


	6. A Promise

A/N: Thanks for all the great reviews. :o) I'm sorry this chapter too SO long to get out, I know, I know. I'm going to try to start picking up the pace and getting a chapter out every week instead of every three weeks like it's been. This past weeks have been tough, my long term boyfriend and I recently broke up so I've been dealing with that and all the mess that came along (and is still coming along) with it. Sorry guys! Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you all think.

* * *

_May 20, 1912_

"…_I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun…"_

Rose marked her page and carefully stood up from the armchair, glancing down at the cover of Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_She had been surprised to find a copy of it in Cal's library, as it wasn't exactly the type of book a man usually kept, but then she had remembered that his younger sister and mother must have influenced the collection somewhat as well.

She kept the book in one hand as she made her way over to the bay window of the library, glancing outward through the fogged glass. It had stormed all morning and afternoon, and by the looks of it, it didn't look to be letting up anytime soon.

She heard the doorknob to the study door rattle and in came Cal, sopping wet with a stack of papers in his hand. She wanted to laugh at the disgruntled expression he had on his face, but he beat her to it.

"Damn rain," he muttered with a charming grin to follow, setting the stack of papers on the desk. He removed his suit jacket and hat and loosened his tie.

"How did you get so wet?" Rose laughed, setting the book down on the desk and carefully placed his jacket and hat on the coat rack.

"Forgot my umbrella," he mumbled sheepishly, running a hand through his wet hair. He stopped sorting through the papers momentarily and glanced down at the book Rose had set on the table. "Pride and Prejudice. Mary's favorite."

"And mine," Rose added. "I haven't read it in years."

"And has the charming Mr. Darcy confessed his undying love for Elizabeth Bennett yet?" he smiled thoughtfully.

"Have you read this book before?" Rose smiled with a slight laugh.

"Perhaps," he chuckled back. He lifted a letter out of its envelope and scanned it briefly, frowning at its contents. "Your mother has written me from New York. She wishes me to travel to Philadelphia to sell the mansion. For the time being, she will be staying with a relative in a town called Cedar Rapids. " He glanced up at her, as if waiting to judge her reaction.

Rose took a deep breath and nodded, smoothing her hands nervously over the bosom of her lavender dress. "My father's sister. I see."

He crossed his arms loosely over his chest, still holding the letter in one hand. He came out from behind the desk and leaned against the front casually. "You're safe with me, Rose. You do know that, don't you?"

She looked at him square in the eyes. "I know that." She brushed past him, suddenly retreating within herself as she headed for the door. She felt him gently rest his hand on her forearm and she forced herself to glance back at him.

"You can trust me. Your mother will know nothing, I can assure you that."

"I'm trying," she finished solidly, pressing her left hand against the column of her throat. She opened the door and nodded to him. "Forgive me, I'm not feeling well."

He paused, open mouthed at first, but then nodded. "Of course. I'll have Marion send up a supper tray later on this evening."

But she was gone before he could barely finish his sentence.

* * *

Rose nearly flung the door of her bedroom shut behind her, and with a shaky breath, she slumped against it. She clawed at the old string of pearls at the base of her neck and pulled them off by the clasp, clutching them loosely in her hands. _Why had she reacted like that towards Cal? _Things between them had been progressing well, and over the course of her stay a venomous enemy had turned into a reliable friend. What was she thinking, casting him aside like that? He cared for her still, that was for sure. She had come to accept that he always had.

It took one mention of her mother; her ridiculous, selfish mother, that had sent the world she had slowly been trying to rebuild crashing down. Her mother to sell their Philadelphian mansion? _How dare she_. She thought of all the memories her childhood home had encompassed, most importantly memories of her father. But of course, as the more rational part of Rose attempted to point out, now there was no money. No Hockley money to better the DeWitt-Bukater name; their final assets slowly running dry long before the _Titanic_. Her mother was smart to sell the mansion, for it would provide her with enough to live off comfortably for the rest of her life. She would, of course, no longer be able to afford a pricey, high class lifestyle, which explained her move to Cedar Rapids perfectly.

_Was she selfish to let her mother mourn her loss while she was very much alive and well? _

There. Rose knew the answer now. She was crazy. Insane, probably. Perhaps Mrs. O'Neill was right after all. The mental hospital would have suited her well.

_Stop it, Rose, _a voice chided her. _You are not crazy_ _and you know it_.

She thought of Jack for a brief moment, and his face smiled back at her. _A life of her own, that was what she really wanted. _Not a life in the Hockley mansion, decked out in pearls and fancy dresses. She wanted to get her hands dirty and learn the true meaning of work; of making a living. _The life Jack had_.

She missed him. Perhaps a small part of her had loved him after all but had not wanted to admit it. She was sure that she would have grown to love him completely, had he survived. The things they would have seen and accomplished together would have been endless. Now she would never know. She would have to take each day as it came and uphold her end of the promise.

Promises were often made to be broken, but not this one. She owed Jack's memory that much. He had taught her more about life and love in three days then she could have learned in three lifetimes.

_That promise was all she had._

And Cal had been surprisingly good to her through all of this. They had hurt each other deeply, and yet still harbored affection for one another. The hardest part for Rose was trusting him again after all he had put her through; all they had put each other through. Trusting someone meant she cared. Looking at it logically, every person she had trusted and cared about had left her. Either by fate or choice, or both. Her father, dead at fifty-three to cancer. Jack, to the North Atlantic. Her mother, by Rose's own choice. And now her childhood home, the result of losing her mother. Again, by choice.

If she trusted Cal, and perhaps began to develop the feelings that she had once harbored for him in the beginning of their courtship, he too would leave her, by either fate or choice. Wouldn't he?

She set the pearls carefully on the surface of the vanity and began pulling the pins out of her hair, letting it flow freely around her shoulders. She glanced at her reflection and at the thinness of her face; the darkness underneath her eyes. She moved her lips into her prettiest smile; a true smile, not a fake, forced one. She then let it drop and began to brush out her red curls slowly, tying them back loosely into a ribbon.

_Someday,_ she promised herself, _I will smile like that again._

* * *

Cal had spent the rest of the night in his father's study, reviewing the last month's expenses in the Pittsburg mill's ledger. His father had always been a terrible bookkeeper, and several of the pages were nearly illegible, with smudges and cross outs confusing the figures. _The Philadelphia mill's ledger would have to wait until tomorrow. _He sighed and rubbed his temples. He didn't know why he bothered sometimes. His father was quick to find fault in everything he did, and he was sure that although things had been running smoothly at both mills in his absence, Nathan Hockley would find something to hold against Cal. He always did. And it was times during which he endured his father's criticism that Cal truly hated the family business and dreaded the day he would have to take it over completely. At least with his father still in control, the full responsibility still wasn't quite in his hands.

It was just assumed that after Peter's death that Hockley Steel would fall into Cal's hands. Like Nathan certainly had emphasized before, Peter would have been the better business leader, but Cal would have to do now. He regretted that his parent's had never even bothered to ask whether or not continuing the family business was something he wanted to do; it was just implied. Truthfully, Cal had a longing in his days at Harvard to become a lawyer. He was never a steel man; never one for the industry. Now, he had no choice.

He stifled back a yawn and looked over towards the grandfather clock, surprised to find it already half past ten in the evening. He shut the ledger and stood up stiffly, stretching out the tension in his back as he placed the ledger in its proper place on the bookshelf. His supper plate, brought in hours ago by Marion, had remained virtually untouched.

He left the study, still harboring the yawn. All he could think about over the past few hours had been Rose, and her strange reaction to her mother's letter. He wished there was something more he could do for her, because even though she had been warming up to him as of late, there was still a melancholy look in her eyes that seemed to look through him at times. He had tried everything; dinners, walks in the park; picnics in the garden. For the first time in almost a year, they were getting along, as things should have always been. Yet through her laughs and smiles, Cal still sensed something in Rose that wasn't quite right. He just wished he could get to the bottom of it.

Standing at the bottom of the stairs, he contemplated going to the kitchen before bed to fix himself something to eat. It sounded tempting, yet he was beyond exhausted. He had just started to ascend the stairs when suddenly, muffled, far off screams caught his attention. His eyes grew wide as he gripped the banister, and glancing down towards the first floor he heard a door slam and noticed Marion running down the hall, one hand covering the curlers in her hair and the other clutching her robe shut.

"What in the world, Mr. Hockley?" she questioned, taking the stairs nearly two at a time behind him.

"I haven't the slightest idea," he replied back, out of breath. The stairs seemed endless to him, and he never remembered it taking this long to reach the second floor before. He then realized, as they both paused momentarily on the landing, that the screams were coming from Rose's room.

Cal led the way, flinging his arm back and motioning to Marion to stay several paces behind him just in case. Quickly they bounded down the hallway and reached Rose's room, the third door on the right. Flinging the door open with Marion peering over his arm, he had been right. _Rose was screaming._

There was no intruder, nothing to harm her of the sort in sight. Instead, she was lying on the bed, pale as a sheet. As he moved closer to her, he could make out her clammy complexion and the sweat that had trickled down the side of her face. From the sight of the bed, it appeared to him that she had been thrashing about, suffering the worst of a nightmare. His suspicions were only confirmed as he watched her lift and fling her arms about, and instantly he sat down on the edge of the bed and grabbed her arms, pinning them to her sides.

This only made her struggle more in her unconscious state. "No! Don't please, _No!_," she screamed, fighting against Cal. Her eyes suddenly flung open and she began pounding her fists against his chest, still fighting an imaginary demon. He himself had broken out into a sweat as he tried to calm her.

"Rose!" he shouted, gripping her arms as he tried to still her. "_Rose._"

She stopped fighting then and only glanced at him, as if she finally had woken up. Her eyes darted back and forth and she shut them only briefly, as if relieved that she was, in fact, safe. "What happened?"

"You were having a nightmare," Cal soothed, still holding her by the arms, although less forcibly. "Marion and I heard you screaming from downstairs."

Listlessly she nodded and leaned forward, collapsing into Cal's chest as if all the energy had been drained out of body. He was taken aback by this and repositioned his hands and held her as she began to sob into him.

Marion took this as her cue to leave and nodded politely to Cal. "I'll be downstairs, sir, if you need me. Please don't hesitate to wake me. Goodnight, Miss Dawson."

Not quite sure what to say or do, he continued to hold her, stroking her hair in the dim lamplight. Curiosity got the best of him, and he asked a simple question. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

She sat up slowly and pulled away from him, dropping her hands into her lap. She shook her head, and Cal didn't press it, instead giving her a simple nod.

As she wiped at her eyes with a handkerchief, she managed a small smile towards him. "Thank you."

"Of course," he smiled back, unsure of what else to say at the moment.

"I just want…I want things to get better. I want to go to sleep and not dream of Titanic and of all those people frozen in the sea."

"And they will," he comforted her. "And whatever I can do to help you, by God I will."


End file.
